Mostly Fiction

The Brony

“Believe it or not, there are grown men out there who are interested in watching more than just sports and violence on TV,” the subject said. “I’m one of them.”

The interviewer nodded and wrote something on his clipboard. He looked back up at the subject.

The subject adjusted his glasses and ran his hand across his forehead, wiping beads of sweat through his thin brown hair. A thudding sound from above broke the silence as a fan turned on somewhere. A stale, warm breeze passed over them.

“Also, Lauren Faust is a freakin’ genius.”

The interviewer put his clipboard down on the table between them. He slid his pen into the front pocket of his lab coat. “Do you not worry about what other people might think?” he asked.

The subject glanced around him at the walls of the tiny room, completely featureless except for the metal door behind the interviewer. “I don’t know,” said the subject. “I guess I just don’t think that the opinion of anyone who would judge me for something like that is really worth worrying about.”

“I see,” said the interviewer. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in toward the subject. The fan that had turned on earlier quietly sputtered and turned back off; the warm breeze stopped.

“Look,” said the subject, “I really need to go, unless you’re going to, I don’t know, arrest me or something, I don’t think you can hold me here. I have rights!”

The interviewer sighed and leaned back. “Very well,” he said. He stood up and pushed his chair under the table. “I’ll get the release papers for you to sign and you can be on your way. Just wait here a moment.” He reached down and took his clipboard, then turned and walked toward the door.

“You should give it a chance some time,” said the subject. The interviewer paused mid-stride—his hand outstretched an inch away from the door handle. He turned his head to see the subject grinning at him.

The interviewer frowned, then opened the door and stepped out of the room. The door closed behind him, followed by a soft click as the lock slid into place.

The interviewer turned the corner into the monitoring room, where a man in a military uniform was watching the subject on a TV screen.

“How dangerous is he?” asked the man in the uniform.

“I can’t tell with this one,” said the interviewer. “The others were obviously harmless, but this one is… different somehow. I don’t want you to terminate him yet, not until I’ve had a chance to study him further. But to be safe, I’m recommending level three containment protocols.”

The man in the uniform frowned and scratched his chin, then turned back to the TV screen. The subject turned his head toward the camera.

“I think…” said the subject, “that it’s going to surprise everypony!”

The screen cut to static for a moment, then shut off along with all of the lights. Less than a second later, the emergency backup lights clicked on in the hall outside the monitoring room. The man in the uniform and the interviewer looked at each other in the dimness.

“Shit!” said the interviewer.

“Get to the door,” said the man in the uniform. “Make sure he can’t escape!”

The interviewer rushed out into the hall and around the corner. A sliver of warped metal clinging to the hinges was all that was left of the door to the interrogation room. The interviewer’s eyes went wide at the sight of the empty room, and he slowly backed away.

“Sir, we need to get out of here!” yelled the interviewer. He turned to run to the exit at the far end of the hall. In his haste, he almost tripped over something heavy and low to the ground that blocked his way. He turned to see what it was, and his face went white when he saw that it was the eviscerated corpse of the man in the uniform. The interviewer gasped, then slipped in a pool of blood and collapsed to the floor. He struggled to a sitting position, and started scooting away from the body.

“Don’t you know…” said the subject’s voice. The interviewer looked all around him, but didn’t see the subject anywhere. The voice had a strange echo to it, as though it had traveled a long distance to get there.

The interviewer started to get to his feet. “Please…” he cried. The emergency lights flickered and went out, leaving him in complete darkness.

The hallway filled with a soft light, made of all the colors of the rainbow. As the interviewer scrambled toward the exit, the rainbow light quickly intensified. The interviewer screamed as his retinas detached and his skin burned and peeled from the heat of the light. A loud crack sounded, shaking the ground and rattling the walls.

Dazed, the interviewer dropped to his knees. Before darkness finally overcame him, the subject’s voice whispered softly in his shattered ear drums.